When Saturday Comes

Due to the vagaries of my occupation my Saturday morning in the context the prompt is implying is not in fact a Saturday morning but a Monday morning. For those new to reading to the blog or have just let this slip by I shall extrapolate upon that statement; I work in the pub trade. So the traditional weekend for me is in fact my busy time, so an actually Saturday morning is either spent cleaning and preparing the pub for the days service or at home walking the dogs and doing the items I would be doing in the afternoon if on a split shift. So after the busy weekend of the normal folk in sensible jobs has dissipated I retire upon a Sunday night with the knowledge that I have a much freer weekend than those on the 9-5 time table. Less hustle and bustle when shopping, public venues such as museums are relatively thin on the ground of people aiding to a much more satisfactory and rewarding experience. Unlike a certain orange rotund feline, I have no reasons to hate Monday.

So my “Saturday morning” will usually consist of a lie in and perhaps read few chapters of whatever tome I am reading, then I waddle downstairs about half ten for a cup of tea or three and browse the listings at the local cinema to check if there are films I wish to see and what time they are being shown. Normally I will go for an early afternoon screening, my Monday Matinee has almost become a ritual with me, as that means I have time to call in on some of my pals at the Mytton and Mermaid. Screening time affects my morning, if it is lunchtime screening it changes when I do the odds and sods I need to do. Mostly though I just chill and listen to music as I have a alarmingly large amount of unlistened too albums (too such an extent I accidentally bought one album twice!).